


A Time for Succour

by eternalsojourn



Series: Bad Boy Made Good [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Lactation, Lactation Kink, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalsojourn/pseuds/eternalsojourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Arthur first lets MMA fighter Eames know that they're expecting, he's feeling a little tender, a little sore. Eames soothes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Time for Succour

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my beta [nightreveals](night-reveals.livejournal.com) for the beta.
> 
> There will be a sequel to Bad Boy Made Good which takes place after the child is born. Consider this a porny interlude. I wrote it for my [Procreation Celebration](http://eternalsojourn.livejournal.com/17280.html), which is a pan-fandom fest all about mpreg, preg, and kidfic.

“These things are so stupid. Why didn’t they put some real engineers on this shit?” Arthur shrugged one shoulder unhappily, attempting to lift the strap with his other hand to relieve the digging.

Eames glanced up from his laptop where he’d been typing an email (to the bank, his fourth draft with completely new wording) and looked sympathetic. “Take it off.”

Arthur snaked a hand up the back of his shirt and made a face while he tried to undo the clasp at his back. When Eames made a move to help, Arthur waved Eames off. “I’ve got it.” His expression cleared as he managed to flick the clasp open. He slid his fingers around his ribcage, gently rubbing where the band had sat. Sliding up further, he went over the top of the cup, experimentally brushing his nipple. His brow creased in a pained furrow.

Eames pushed his laptop to the coffee table and tapped the sofa next to him. Arthur moved to sit, pulling the straps out through the holes of his t-shirt and removing the offending garment entirely. He sighed in relief.

“You don’t have to wear it, you know,” Eames said, slipping his arm over Arthur’s shoulders.

“I know. It’s just better during the day. My nipples don’t show through my shirt, and they...” Arthur side-eyed Eames, pre-empting any laughing. “They jiggle less.” Arthur’s breasts were fairly small, but definitely fuller than the flat chest he’d been used to. Eames rather liked it on him, the roundness echoing the gentle roundness of Arthur’s belly. Arthur himself hadn’t said much about it until this latest complaint about the bra.

Eames didn’t laugh, and had no urge to, despite Arthur’s fear. He simply reached over to smooth Arthur’s t-shirt over his belly and said, “Does it dig in?”

Arthur shrugged. “A little. It’s the chaffing more than anything, although it was just as bad without it. They’re really tender.” His nipples were also fairly prominent nubs under his shirt where usually Arthur’s nipples were flat. Eames could see why Arthur preferred to keep them covered. At home, though, under the soft charcoal jersey...

Moving his hand up to brush the small bumps with his fingertips, Eames said, “You shouldn’t have material covering them, then.” He tugged on the shirt until Arthur leaned forward enough for them both to lift it up and off.

Arthur’s nipples were rosy and slightly puffy. Eames half felt bad that Arthur had to deal with the discomfort all day, but the other half found it sexy as hell. Arthur, always so lean and full of angles, was round with Eames’s child, breasts swollen, and Arthur’s own sharp personality was softened with fatigue. Eames loved everything about Arthur’s angles, both literal and figurative, but this new side of him was appealing in its own way. It made Eames want to yoke his own strength to care for Arthur.

Circling the flush of Arthur’s aureola and using his thumb with just the barest whisper of a touch against the nub, Eames leaned in and kissed Arthur’s shoulder. He brushed his thumb over the nipple again, and Arthur took in a breath. It gleamed slightly, so Eames took it between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it as gently as he could. A little more wetness met his touch. “You didn’t tell me you’d started lactating,” he said. 

“Not much,” Arthur replied. “I noticed when drying off after my shower yesterday. That’s another reason for the...” he gestured to the discarded brassiere.

Before he even thought about what he was doing, Eames leaned down and took a tiny lick. Arthur huffed a laugh and Eames smiled up at him. “You’re right. Not much there,” Eames said. “Kind of sweet.” He ducked back in and licked again, this time closing his mouth around the swollen bud gently in a wet kiss. “How’s that? Okay?”

“Mm,” Arthur replied, tilting his head a little to rest it on the back of the sofa. “‘s nice, actually.”

Eames shifted, moving more of his weight onto Arthur’s lap — the part that wasn’t taken up by his modestly round belly. He cupped Arthur’s breast in one hand, gently supporting its weight while he moved to take the other nipple in his lips. Arthur sighed like he couldn’t help it, which spurred Eames on to a more enthusiastic mouthing of the tender nipple under his tongue.

After a minute or so of such ministrations, Eames was surprised to taste a warm sweetness. He uttered a hum and was about to pull off and make a comment, but found himself instead turning his wet kiss into a gentle suck. He felt Arthur’s breathing deepen, but he didn’t look up, favouring the new sensation and the oddness of being latched onto Arthur’s breast: his Arthur, his strong, lean, occasionally frightening partner.

When he did (reluctantly) let go and look up, Arthur was looking down at him, heat in his gaze. He lifted the hem of Eames’s shirt to run his hand over Eames’s waist.

Eames smiled crookedly, then said, brows raised, “Do you mind...”

Seeing where Eames had indicated, Arthur nodded, shifting his hips slightly to make them both a little more comfortable.

Eames moved back to the other breast and closed his mouth over it, this time giving the full flesh a few soft kneads to encourage the flow. It was slow to begin but with a little more kneading and some focussed suckling, he had the full taste of sweet milk and the heady awareness of Arthur above him, watching. Experimentally, Eames lifted off, leaving the nipple wet and shiny and continue kneading. Beads of white accumulated and began to drip and he kneaded further, licking the line up the undercurve of Arthur’s breast and licking another droplet off the softened bud. He latched on again, sucking in earnest as he felt Arthur lift his hips again slightly in order to rearrange his erection.

Eames shifted his weight to better Arthur’s access to his own cock, and looked down. Arthur’s hand inside his jogging pants, lazily pulling at himself. Eames withdrew once more, this time to move off to help Arthur out of his pants.

Naked, Arthur was truly a sight. His left breast was shiny with spit and milk, a single drip making its way over his breast, his belly smooth and round, his flushed, mostly-erect cock canting to the left of the swell. Arthur reached to stroke himself again, and Eames watched for a moment. But he soon moved so that he knelt on the floor in front of Arthur and bent in to suckle at Arthur’s tightened sac — first one side, then the other while Arthur jacked.

When he moved up, Arthur continued stroking, so Eames reached out and stilled his hand before removing it. “Let me,” he said, and lifted Arthur’s cock to tongue the length of it before slipping it fully into his mouth.

Arthur flexed into it and pressed his head into the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. He threaded fingers through Eames’s hair but didn’t grip or control, just rubbed Eames’s head.

Eames took his time, stopping to mouth Arthur’s shaft from the side, to take Arthur’s sac into his mouth, and to suckle at the head. He longed to put his mouth everywhere at once, to feel all of Arthur’s curves and to taste the milk and kiss him, all at once. He poured his desire into his singular task, and before long Arthur was flexing rhythmically, breathing ragged, desperate and insistent. Eames didn’t deny him, taking half Arthur’s length and enclosing it tightly in his mouth, suction and strokes of his tongue pulling bursts of come from Arthur.

Eames stayed on, easing the suction and gently licking Arthur clean afterwards. He pushed up off his knees on his way to a kiss, but got sidetracked on the way and took some more milk, savouring the contrast of bitter to sweet. 

When he did make it up to kiss Arthur, he was only allowed it for a long moment before Arthur urged Eames to lay down. Arthur stretched himself out along the sofa to make room. 

“Was that weird?” Eames asked as Arthur undid Eames’s jeans and slipped his hand inside to curl around Eames’s boxer-clad erection.

“No, it was good. It was you,” Arthur said, then pre-empted further questioning by kissing Eames again. He licked in perhaps a little more enthusiastically than usual, tasting himself on Eames’s tongue. He pulled Eames’s cock out through the hole in his boxers and the feeling of flesh on Eames’s bare cock had him humming into Arthur’s mouth.

“You want me to use my mouth?” Arthur asked, pulling back. 

Eames considered it for a second, but laid out along Arthur’s naked form, warm and face to face, Eames wasn’t particularly inclined to move. “No, I’m close anyway,” he said, then nibbled on Arthur’s lower lip before claiming a fiercer, deeper kiss.

Arthur was familiar with Eames’s tells, was long used to using them to extend or shorten their sessions as necessary, or according to his whim. It was comforting to Eames, amidst all the strangeness of Arthur’s belly and the enticing but odd experience of suckling Arthur’s milk, to remember that this was the same Arthur he’d come home to after fights, the same Arthur who calmed him when he threatened to go off the rails again.

Small thrusts of his hips told Arthur that Eames was indeed close, and he quickened his pace, slipping Eames’s foreskin back and forth over the tip. It got him every time, that move, and Eames soon grunted quietly and shot ropy strings over their bellies and Arthur’s fingers.

Panting into Arthur’s mouth, Eames calmed himself, then reached to pick up Arthur’s t-shirt to wipe them both down.

“How was that not weird for you?” Eames pushed. “You looked like you were getting almost as turned on as I was.”

Arthur shrugged, looking at Eames’s mouth. “Well, it’s just you, isn’t it? It’s not like the act itself is a turnon.”

Relieved he wasn’t perverting what should be a perfectly functional phenomenon, Eames kissed Arthur softly. He tossed the t-shirt on the ground and slipped his hand around to Arthur’s side and up his back, a part of Arthur that felt the same as it always did. He said nothing, but Arthur read something in his response and lifted a hand to Eames’s neck and stroked Eames’s jawline with his thumb.

“It’ll all be all right,” he said.

**End**


End file.
